therapy | destiel

Chapter Seven

Warning! May be triggering! Thoughts of self-harm and suicide.

Dean's POV

Cas loved the stars.

That's all I can think as I stare up at them. He loved them almost as much as he loved humans. He could talk about people for hours. They fascinated him to no end.

"How important is lipstick to you, Dean?"

You know, half the time I didn't have a damn clue what he was talking about. But it didn't matter, because it was Cas. And he was beautiful.

"I love you."

He had said that as he was choking on the filth that was going to take away his life. He said it to me.

He was braver than I could ever be.

I slide to the ground, resting my back against a tree trunk. The darkness closes up around me, but I don't panic. It's better this way.

I can feel the steel of my pistol tucked in my waistband. Pulling it out, the cold metal pricks at my hands.

I wonder how long it would take Sam to find me.

I wonder where I would go.

I wonder whether I'd see Cas again.

My fingers hesitate on the trigger. If it was a guarantee, I'd pull it in a heartbeat. But I don't know for sure that Cas would be waiting for me. And so my fingers shake so bad they drop the gun.

I can't even pull the goddamned trigger.

I fall forward, my head in my hands, and I just scream. I'm far enough into the trees that no one should hear me. I let my voice tear through the night sky, through the stars that Cas loved so much.

Eventually, my voice gives out, and I can scream no more. I'm left silently sobbing, slamming my fist into the gravel ground over and over and over again, feeling the sharp rocks shred my skin. But I can't stop.

The ground is painted red. My hand is a stained mess. But I can't stop.

It hurts so bad. But I can't stop.

I just can't stop.

Why can't I stop?